The Hitokiri Returns
by Kitsanken
Summary: Women are dying, being slashed by a blade that is all too familiar. Can the crimes be solved before it's too late? And why do all the victims resemble one particular woman from the past? AU: Reincarnation Fic. ON HOLD
1. Prologue REVISED June 29 2004

**_Revised June 29 2004_**

**__**

**_Summary:_**_  Women are dieing, being slashed by a blade that is all too familiar. Can the crimes be solved before it's too late? And why do all the victims resemble one particular woman from the past? A/U: Reincarnation Fic._

_Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha Fuji-TV SME Visual Works Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment_

_All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale._

**The Hitokiri Returns**

By:  Chiruken

Prologue

**_1880_******

Saito scowled through the driving rain at the smaller man kneeling in the churned mixture of blood and mud, glaring at his trembling form, the short and somewhat shaggy red strands plastered to his bowed head and the once pristine uniform now stained soaked in blood and rain, mud caked into the material. "What's done is done. I sympathize, but nothing can make the dead live again." When there was no response he tossed his soggy cigarette aside. "Get up, Battousai, and be a man. Groveling in the mud will _not_ bring the jou-chan back to life."

"Shut up." Saito's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline at the growled answer. Himura Kenshin was never rude or abrupt to anyone...not even his former enemy from the Bakumatsu, Saito Hajime. The Assistant Inspector in the Keishichou was ridiculously polite at all times, much to Saito's disgruntlement. "Don't you think I _know_ she won't come back?" He winced at the pain filled whisper barely audible over the sound of the falling rain and blowing wind. "I _know_ what death is, Saito." The voice was a little louder, the tone stronger…deeper? The Inspector scowled suspiciously and waited. He didn't have long to wait. Slowly, Himura Kenshin lifted his head to meet Saito's gaze directly. "After all, I was the Bringer of Death."

Saito took an involuntary step back when he saw the ruthless amber gaze of the hitokiri he'd once known replace the gentle violet gaze of the man he now knew and worked with closely in the Keishichou. Eyes narrowed to golden slits and lips pressed firmly together in a tight line of disapproval, he rested his hand on the familiar worn hilt of his katana. "Battousai…what is this?" He demanded roughly, not entirely certain he truly wished an answer to his question yet unable to stop himself from asking all the same.

"I can't bring Kaoru back." He spoke coldly, his low voice devoid of emotion or inflection.  The grief Saito knew he felt was currently hidden, locked away deep within his shattered heart. "Death is permanent." The younger man glared up at Saito with his burning amber stare glittering in the cold, rain-drenched night. "But I _can_ avenge her brutal murder." He stood slowly, mud clinging to his blood-soaked uniform, rain dripping from his hair, streaming down his youthful face, mixing with the tears Saito knew he shed for the young woman laying in the mud, her once vibrant blue eyes now dull and glazed with death, her smooth, porcelain white skin splattered with her own blood which continued to seep from the gaping wounds, staining her once yellow kimono. "Don't get in my way, Saito. I don't want to have to kill you."

Saito shook his head, expression carefully blank, not allowing his true feelings to show through the tight control he now held over himself. "I can't let you do this, Battousai." He had no particular fondness for the younger man, at least none that he was willing to admit to, yet he couldn't allow him to throw his life away foolishly.  His honor wouldn't permit him to stand aside and allow the other man to follow through with the new path he was now setting himself on.

"I _will_ kill the butchers who did this to Kaoru." The former captain of the third squad of the Shinsengumi remembered seeing the same insane glitter in the smaller man's eyes during the revolution on the occasions that they'd crossed blades in the streets of Kyoto. He meant what he said, Saito knew. Hitokiri Battousai never bluffed…and neither did his gentler rurouni self, Himura Kenshin. He would kill the men responsible for the death of Kamiya Kaoru and nothing and no one could deter him from this path.

With an inward sigh the Inspector knew that he had to try to stop the other man from hunting down the killers of the woman he'd loved, but never told.  He knew that if he were in the smaller man's position he'd feel the same rage and desperate need for vengeance, yet despite this he couldn't just walk away without trying to dissuade him from his course of action.  "I don't care one way or the other if those murdering bastards die by your hand or mine, but think of what Kaoru-chan would want. Would she truly wish for you to revoke your vow and stain your sakabatou with blood?"  He felt that perhaps reminding the younger man of the young woman's views towards bloodshed might help to calm the fury roiling though him demanding that he spill the blood of her murderers.

"Does it even matter?" Himura Kenshin tilted his face up to the sky, letting the rain wash away his tears. He was silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his harsh intakes of breath.  His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his shoulders shook from the violence of the intense emotions rushing through him, tearing him apart inside from the soul out, the older man deduced.  "I am _nothing_ without Kaoru!" Saito winced at the anguished cry. The amber gaze moved back to him. "Step aside, Saito. I don't want to kill you."

"If you do this I will have no choice but to bring you to justice, Himura Kenshin."  He didn't have much hope of dissuading the smaller man from his set course, yet Saito felt honor-bound to at least try.

There was a moment of silence while the two men stared at each other through the driving rain. For a moment, Saito dared to hope he'd finally gotten through to the grief stricken man when he lowered his head to stare at the ground. An instant later, Saito's hopes were dashed. "Who is Himura Kenshin?" Saito shook his head slowly at the harsh tone, part in denial and part in understanding. The smaller man turned and strode away. "I am Hitokiri Battousai."****

****

Saito Hajime, former squad leader of the Shinsengumi of Kyoto, now an Inspector in the Keishichou and going by the alias of Fujita Goro, skidded to a halt and stared in carefully concealed horror at the scene before him before shaking his head sharply. He was too late. He failed in his task to stop Himura Kenshin from the grievous error he'd chosen to commit himself to and in effect failed to protect Kamiya Kaoru's ideals and belief in the man she'd chosen to give her heart and love to.  Despite their differences, Saito had come to view Himura Kenshin as something akin to a friend, the common thread being their survival of the chaos of the Bakumatsu and mutual respect in each other's abilities as a warrior.  He had even admired the former hitokiri's stubborn adherence to his vow to never kill again and now that he had, he found himself wondering where the younger man would go from here.  His duty as an officer of the law dictated that he bring the rurouni turned hitokiri to justice, but his own personal feelings were interfering in his ability to carry out his duty.  With an inner sigh he squashed his own sorrow at what must be done and steeled his resolve.  "Inspector…" He ignored the other officer's coming up quickly behind him.

He stepped forward slowly, paying no attention to the mutilated corpses of the suspects in the murder of Kamiya Kaoru strewn haphazardly along the narrow lane between buildings, choosing instead to focus on the small garden just ahead of him and the two figures standing there. There was one thug left living. "Stop." He commanded harshly, addressing the red-haired man with the bloodied katana. Not surprisingly, he was ignored. He strode forward, drawing his own weapon with practiced ease. "This cannot continue. Stand down…now."  He regretted that he'd been unable to stop the younger man from committing such a grievous error.  His soul and that of the woman he'd loved would never rest now that more blood had been shed with the once pristine blade of a katana designed to protect without killing.  The ideals of two people had been destroyed and Saito felt his sorrow grow at the thought of the torment Himura Kenshin's own heart must be experiencing.  He knew the rurouni was still within the man now standing before him, merely buried deeply within the psyche of the hitokiri he'd once been.

The smaller man pressed the blade of his katana against the suspect's exposed neck, then turned partway back to face Saito over his shoulder, amber eyes narrowed and glittering with the rage of the hitokiri. "Stay out of this." The once gentle and mild voice was now a low, harsh growl, no evidence of the rurouni remained in the hardened features of the man glaring across the short distance.

"I will not allow you to continue on this path, Himura." Saito approached the younger man cautiously, fully aware that if it came down to a true duel that he would be at a severe disadvantage. Himura Kenshin was just too fast to face in a fair fight.

"Himura?" The other man laughed harshly. "I don't know anyone by that name." He leaned closer to his prisoner. "Do you know anyone by that name?"

Saito suppressed a shudder. The man he'd once respected no longer existed. He'd been replaced by a monster. "You're insane."

"No, I'm proving a point. Himura Kenshin died with Kamiya Kaoru. He no longer exists."

"Fine. Have it your way, Battousai. But remember this…Kaoru-chan would not thank you for this. That poor girl's spirit must be weeping at what you've allowed yourself to become."

"What would you know?" The Battousai turned abruptly back to the captive and drew his katana across his exposed throat, killing him instantly. He spun to face Saito again seemingly oblivious to the blood dripping down his face and off his chin. "He deserved to die slowly for what he did to Kaoru, but you didn't give me enough time." If there had been a petulant note in his voice, Saito would have been relieved. If there had been a pout on his youthful face, Saito would not feel cold dread running up his spine. But there hadn't been either. The words had been spoken with absolutely no emotion or inflection, his expression remaining cold and blank.

"So what now?" He studied the smaller man's stance, seeing no immediate opening that would allow for a successful attack. "Are you going to kill me, too?" Why was he just standing there? Saito gritted his teeth, waiting for the attack that he knew was coming. "Is this just the beginning?" The former hitokiri's ki was a massive swirl of conflicting emotions, swelling and receding. So much so that Saito was unable to predict when or if he was going to attack. "Well?" Saito scowled and shifted his stance, preparing for his favorite technique. If Battousai wouldn't attack, then he would.  He had no choice but to stop the younger man from shedding more blood.  He almost desperately wanted to save him, but he also knew that the other man was far beyond redemption now.  To tell him the truth, to tell him the men he'd killed were _not_ the true killers of Kamiya Kaoru, was not an option.  The truth would completely destroy the other man and possibly obliterate any remaining sanity he possessed.

"The Gatoutsu. Saito? How unimaginative. Save it. I'm finished now." Battousai lowered his katana and bowed his head. "They're dead now. I did what I said I'd do."  Slowly he shifted his grip on the hilt of his sakabatou, the movement not lost on Saito though he was as of yet uncertain what it could signify.

"And damned yourself at the same time. I can't let you go…not this time."

"I didn't ask you to." Saito stared in horror as the smaller man dropped to his knees, falling onto his own bloodstained blade.

"May you find forgiveness, Himura Kenshin…from Kaoru-chan…and yourself." He shook his head and walked away as he calmly lit a cigarette pretending to not notice that his hand shook as he held the match to the tip and inhaled deeply.


	2. Chapter 1 REVISED June 30 2004

**_Revised _****_June 30 2004_****__**

**__**

**_Summary:_**_  Women are dieing, being slashed by a blade that is all too familiar. Can the crimes be solved before it's too late? And why do all the victims resemble one particular woman from the past? A/U: Reincarnation Fic._

_Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha Fuji-TV SME Visual Works Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment_

_All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale._

**The Hitokiri Returns**

By:  Chiruken

Chapter 1

**_2000_******

Ignoring the annoyingly loud sounds of traffic drifting in from the street below through the partially open window overlooking the busy street running past the building his office rested in, he leaned forward over his cluttered desk and scowled irritably at the folders spread out haphazardly before him across the worn and scarred top of his large oversized desk, the coffee stains in the form of rings hidden by the multitude of papers, old take-out containers and scrunched up napkins. He ignored the mess and concentrated instead on the folders spread open on top of the clutter, the photographs glaring up at him in silent accusation as the cases remained unsolved for yet another night. He shook his head, acknowledging that it was frustrating that these kinds of cases kept piling up with increasing frequency and yet so few were actually being solved. Frustrating…and alarming. _How many more will die before this is over?_ He closed his eyes, covering his face with one hand and shook his head slowly before pinching the bridge of his nose. _Too many._ He silently answered his unspoken question bitterly.  More young women would die and he would see more of their faces on his desk, their lifeless eyes staring up at him in silent accusation of his inability to find the monster responsible for their deaths and bring him to justice, keeping the streets safe for others just like the women who'd already been killed.  And somewhere deep within him he felt that he was somehow responsible, that it was his fault that the killer was still at large preying on his victims and destroying countless lives in the process.

Making a concerted effort to shake off the dark, pessimistic mood he reached across his cluttered desk over to the overflowing ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette, grimacing at the acrid odor of burning filters and ignoring the miniature avalanche his movement caused amongst the various Styrofoam containers. With a loud sigh he acknowledged that he knew what his problem was…he cared too much. He had to start thinking of it as just another job. Experience told him that he wouldn't take his own advice, no matter how good it was. He couldn't ignore the brutality of these recent crimes any more than he could with the other cases he'd taken over the last few years. It went against the grain. He smiled humorlessly. He should've listened to his grandfather. He should've been a cop.  A part of him had always know that that was his calling, but there was also another part of him that refused to conform to other's rules and regulations.  It was that part that felt so strongly about justice and was thoroughly disgusted when crimes went unpunished and the guilty were set free to walk the streets again, effectively making those same streets dangerous for every innocent citizen who had to share them with the criminals who should've been convicted except for some corrupt official being bribed or from terrorist tactics against the jury by their cohorts frightening them into a not guilty verdict.  It was enough to make him sick to the stomach.

He leaned back in his comfortably worn leather chair, tilting it back as he spun partially away from his desk to stare up at the water stains marring the ceiling of his office. "Damned landlord. I told him…" He scowled at the muffled ring of a telephone, biting back the rest of his muttered tirade. It was his, but where was it? He shoved papers aside, wincing when another avalanche ensued, and looked around his office when he didn't find it on his desk. _Where the hell did I leave that damned thing?  _He stared at the battered filing cabinet across the room for a moment before pushing his chair back from the cluttered and overflowing desk decisively. He crossed to the metal cabinet and began opening and closing drawers starting at the top, the hollow bangs of thin sheet metal meeting more of the same echoing loudly in his ears, making him feel just a little better since he now had an outlet for his growing frustrations, until he finally found the cordless phone in a drawer part way down. He smirked as he pulled it out, his mood definitely improved from the minor violence he'd just performed on the hapless filing cabinet. "Imagine that…filed under 'j'…as in junk." He answered it on the sixth ring. "Four City Investigations. John Saito here." He slammed the last drawer shut with a well-placed kick and moved back to his desk, wincing at the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. He sighed inaudibly. _There goes the flower vase Pops gave me last month…_ He craned his neck slightly to peer around the metal cabinet and shook his head when he saw the shattered remains of the vase his grandfather had given him to replace the last one he'd broken. "Great…just great…" He muttered under his breath not caring if his grumbling were heard on the other end of the telephone.

"Um…" The voice on the other end paused. "I don't know if you can help me…"

Saito rolled his eyes. _They always start like this. _He thought sardonically his already frazzled patience fraying a bit more at the hesitancy he detected from the other end of the line. "Try me." He sat again in his favorite chair, yanking open the top drawer to his right, and reached inside for his cigarettes. The speaker sounded young…very young in fact. He scowled at the realization. _Just what I need…another smart-ass kid getting his thrills with crank calls._  He wondered, not for the first time, what kind of cheap thrills the punks got out of wasting his time.  What he wouldn't give to have the ability to reach through the telephone lines and choke the little snot-nosed whelp on the other end just to teach him a valuable lesson in what happened when his time was wasted just for the juvenile amusement of getting his thrills from placing prank calls to someone who was on the verge of having the last of his patience shoot out the partially open window.

There was a slight hesitation as if the caller had detected Saito's sarcasm and growing impatience in his voice. "Do you deal with lost or stolen items?"

He scowled and paused in the act of lighting his cigarette. _This kid's good. He sounds almost serious. Let's see how far he'll go._ Lips curving up into a smirk, he leaned back in his chair. "That depends on what was lost or stolen. I don't deal with cats, dogs, children or other livestock." Or lollipops, he added silently barely suppressing the snicker that wanted to accompany the ungracious thought.

"What about weapons?" He almost swallowed his unlit cigarette at the unexpected reply. "More specifically…swords."

He sat up abruptly, smirk replaced by a scowl as his mind raced.  He wished, not for the first time, that he'd invested in call display.  It was much easier to trace calls from his end if he at least had a name and telephone number to start with. "Who is this?" He searched around his desk frantically for a pen and notepaper. Some day he really had to try to get organized. It was a distant thought amidst the turmoil running through his mind. The kid sounded so grim that Saito was beginning to wonder if he'd misjudged him.

"Kenshin Myoujin. Do you need that spelled?"

Feeling his eyes nearly bug out with his shock, he cleared his throat and injected a growl into his voice before replying. "Very funny." Saito tossed the dead pen across the room violently and grabbed a fluorescent pink highlighter. "Myoujin as in the Myoujin School of Kendou?" He could practically see dollar signs dancing around his vision. The Myoujin family was one of the most prominent families around and their wealth was almost legendary.

"Close enough. That's my father's doujou, not mine." Saito gritted his teeth. He really hated dealing with pint-sized brats like this…though he thought Harry Myoujin only had one son who should be close to thirty about now though for the life of him the name of that son slipped his mind at the moment. Saito shrugged and quickly wrote the name down. Money was money and a man in his position didn't allow personal feelings to get in the way of acquiring it even if that meant dealing with some spoiled brat with too much of his father's money to know what to do with it. "So…can you help me?"

"Maybe."  He answered noncommittally.  "What kind of sword did you lose?" His eyes moved of their own volition back to the open file on his desk. Added to the prospect of earning some hard cash, he felt a thrill of anticipation and hope run up his spine. It was a long shot, but maybe this was the break he needed. He hoped so. He really needed something and fast. If he didn't get a break in this case, he may as well close down his business and get a job flipping burgers. His entire reputation was riding on this case as well as the lives of innocent women.  He couldn't afford to waste more time with dead ends and false leads.  Very real lives were at stake and if somehow the Myoujin kid could shed some much needed light on the case he was willing to overlook his dislike of under age punks and their constant whining in order to hopefully prevent more blood shed on the streets.

"That's just it, Mr. Saito. It _was_ lost, but now it's back."

Gritting his teeth Saito tossed his highlighter and notepad onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. _There go those nice little dollar signs right out the window. _He thought bitterly.  He reached up with his free hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.  _And so much for that much needed lead.  Figures._  He knew he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up so soon.  Still, the disappointment was a nearly palatable thing and left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Look, kid. I'm a busy guy. I don't have time to have my chain yanked."

"Yeah…that's what the police said."

"Go figure." He rolled his eyes and patted his pockets for his matches. "Look, it's been nice chattin' with you, but I have things to do. Go bother someone else."

"No-no-no…don't hang u-…" Saito hung up with a shake of his head.

"I really _hate_ crank calls." He pulled his matchbook out of his pocket and was about to open it when the phone rang again. He sighed, debated for a moment on ignoring it, decided against it and answered it on the third ring.  He couldn't take the chance that it was a prospective client or one of his informants with indispensable information. "Four City Investigations. Saito speaking."

"Don't hang up again…please. I'm serious, I swear." He rolled his eyes, recognizing the soft tenor on the other end. It was the kid again. "This isn't a…"

"Kid, I'm only gonna say this once more nicely. I don't have time for practical jokes. Why don't you go play on the freeway or somethin'? Just stop botherin'…"

"You call that nicely? Saito, I'm serious. I'd come down there myself, but I think it would be a little conspicuous if I carried a katana around town. At least listen to what I have to say. And I'm not a 'kid', thank you very much."

"Did you say katana?" Saito leaned forward and grabbed one of the reports off his desk his optimism returning again. _Could it be?_ Almost afraid to hope, lest he have them dashed once again, he cleared his throat before asking. "As in a real Japanese sword? Not a plastic replica?"

"Actually, it's a sakabatou, but you're close enough."

"A what?" He wasn't certain what a sakabatou was exactly, but still…there _was _a likelihood that it was similar enough to a katana to be of use to him.  He scowled at the report. _Could it be? Could it be the same katana?_ He set his unlit cigarette down and drew in a slow breath, calming his nerves. _I gotta lay off the caffeine…_ It was a distant thought as he waited for his would-be client to elaborate.

"A sakabatou. It's a custom made katana, only with the blade reversed. It's the only one in existence as far as I know."

_Well, that just dashes my hopes. _He thought sourly as he tossed the report back onto his desk and reached for his cigarette again. "Reverse blade, huh? In other words, dull and useless."  He'd never heard of such a thing before.  He wondered briefly why someone would create such a thing.  What could the purpose of a useless sword be?  It just made no sense to create a weapon with the blade reversed.  He was getting a mental picture of a weapon that was supposed to be designed for killing rendered ineffectual.

"Um…not exactly. It's kind of hard to explain. You have to see it to understand."

"Great. Why would I want to waste my time looking at a useless oversized butter knife?" He struck the match and touched it to the end of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.  He just couldn't get the mental image of a giant butter knife out of his head and it was making it difficult to refrain from abandoning all pretense and laughing out right.

"Because it came back with blood on it."

Saito blinked and reached for his notepad and highlighter again. "Where did you say I could find you?"

****

Saito stepped onto the curb and scowled as he studied the plain front of the building rising up before him. It didn't look like much from where he stood. He smirked humorlessly. However, everyone knew of the Myoujin School of Kendou. Their reputation as kendou masters was somewhat notorious around town, as well as their propensity towards being rather eccentric and somewhat snobbish. Obviously the family preferred understatements to luxury if this plain and somewhat ugly building were to be a good way of judging their tastes. From what he'd heard, the Myoujin family wasn't just well off…they were filthy, stinking rich…which explained their collective egocentric attitudes. If one was to believe the rumor's floating around, their assets totaled more than the entire town was worth.

He hated dealing with stuck-up snobs despite the fact that they were the best paying clients since they seemed to be willing to pay whatever it was that he decided to demand for his fees. He shook his head with a sigh and tossed his cigarette into the street, not bothering to pause and watch its glowing red tip bounce along the asphalt, sparks falling with each jarring impact it made with the hard surface before finally coming to rest nestled against the curb, a tiny tendril of smoke winding up towards the distant sky before eventually winking out as the fuel was burned to grey ash. They probably didn't allow smoking in their doujou…not many did.  He decided that he would at least make an attempt to not antagonize his prospective client out right by smoking inside the doujou. He closed the distance and stopped at the wide double doors. There was something written on one, but it was in Japanese or Chinese. He shrugged. Both looked about the same to him. He chuckled under his breath, expression chagrined. His grandfather would have a fit if he ever said that to him. It was ironic that he didn't know the difference between the two written languages since he, himself, was of Japanese descent.  He noted that there were no windows or peep holes in the thick and heavy wood of the doors.

He'd barely raised his hand to knock when the door opened. "Mr. Saito? Please…come in." He scowled at the familiar disembodied voice, the soft tones somehow grating on his already taught nerves. He chose not to pursue the reasons behind his instant dislike for Kenshin Myoujin based solely on hearing his voice, but there was something about hearing the way he spoke so softly that irritated him unreasonably. Shrugging the odd thoughts aside he focused on the newest reason for being annoyed. He preferred seeing whoever was talking to him, but he stepped inside through the open door despite his niggling misgivings. This wasn't a neighbourhood he wanted to stand around in contemplating life and it's quirks merely because his instincts were screaming at him that he didn't want to meet his new client face to face. "Thank you for coming so quickly." He looked around the dim interior suspiciously, eyes narrowed and hands shoved into his pockets clenching into fists as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.  He barely resisted the urge to jingle his keys knowing that such a show of nerves wouldn't go unnoticed by the Myoujin heir and he didn't want to display any signs of weakness in front of him for more reasons than merely because Kenshin Myoujin was a prospective client with a lot of cash at his disposal.

"Why is it so dark in here?" He didn't like surprises and this gloomy interior was one surprise after another just waiting to happen.

"I prefer it that way at night. It's soothing." He turned to face his client and blinked in surprise when he saw a slightly built, red-haired young man. "What? Is something wrong?"

Saito had the oddest feeling of déjà vu. He _knew_ he should recognize this person. He shrugged the strange sensation away, though he couldn't shake the eerie feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It was too ridiculous to think about. He'd never met this young man before. He looked him up and down, noting his features were almost delicate and feminine and winced inwardly, wondering how many had already mistaken his gender. He tilted his head to the side, taking in the short red hair curling over the collar of his green and black plaid flannel shirt and the unusual shade of blue in his eyes. "Are you adopted?" He winced inwardly. _What a rude and stupid thing to say to a new client…especially one with his kind of money._ "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Kenshin Myoujin sighed and shook his head, expression neutral. "My mother was Irish." He stated it in such a way that Saito was given the impression that he was asked about his parentage often. He turned and walked silently towards a closed door off to the side of the foyer. "This way please, Mr. Saito."

He breathed a silent sigh of relief, thankful that his blurted comments hadn't insulted him. "Irish, huh? Guess that explains a lot." He followed slowly, looking around curiously. He hadn't been inside a doujou like this before. He watched as the young man pulled a key ring from his pocket. "Can I ask you somethin'?" He waited until the other man nodded. "How many students train here?"

"One." He stared at the smaller man as he opened the door in surprise. "Me." Kenshin turned and smiled tightly. "The actual Myoujin Doujou is on the other side of town." He gestured for Saito to enter the room.

Saito frowned as he stepped through the door and scratched his head. He'd never heard of a doujou with only one student before. It seemed rather ridiculous to him. "So what, exactly, is this place?"

"I can tell you what it isn't, Mr. Saito. It's separate from my father's doujou that teaches the Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu, the traditional kendou style that was passed down through the generations of Myoujin's. Myoujin Yahiko was the first in our family to be taught the style in Japan. He learned it from the Kamiya family in the late 1800's."

"I…see." Saito rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd just received a lot of information that didn't answer his question. This Kenshin Myoujin was smooth.  He'd effectively sidestepped the obvious question by giving a miniature history lesson of his family. "I take it the Kamiya Kasshin Style isn't taught here then." It was intriguing that the names seemed familiar to him.  He understood why the name Myoujin was familiar…everyone knew about them due to the fame of their doujou and their wealth.  What he didn't understand was why the name "Kamiya" had somehow struck a resonating chord within him.  To the best of his knowledge he'd never heard the name before.  He'd have to ask his grandfather.  Maybe he'd heard some obscure reference to that name from the old man. He pushed the thought aside as he watched the other man closely. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He'd ponder the oddities of recognizing names that shouldn't be familiar to him later when he was alone and didn't have to be alert for… He shook his head slightly and scowled, uncertain what it was about the smaller man that made him so uneasy, nor what he felt he should be watching for.

"No." Saito waited, but Kenshin didn't elaborate. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? I'm afraid I'm fairly limited to beverages unless you don't mind juice."

Saito ignored the question. "So what's taught here?"

"Kenjutsu." Kenshin turned to face him directly. "It isn't widely known and only taught to one person each generation. I don't like discussing it."

Saito hid his surprise at the mention of the old style of swordsmanship training.  To the best of his knowledge kenjutsu had been abandoned for kendou when real swords were outlawed in Japan in the late nineteenth century.  He shook the thought away with effort and focused on the other part of his confusion.  "Why not?" One person per generation? That seemed odd to him. Saito had never heard of such an unusual practice in swordsmanship training except for… He shook his head with a slight frown, remembering something his grandfather had told him years before when he'd still been in training. That was impossible, though. That style no longer existed. It was discontinued over a century before…wasn't it? He looked closer at his client, searching for a hint that his suspicions were false…or well founded. His gut instinct rarely steered him wrong, but he found himself hoping that this time would be one of those rare occasions.

"I just don't." It seemed as if Kenshin Myoujin was hiding something, just as he'd suspected. Saito smirked humorlessly. He'd find out what it was the other man didn't want to discuss and lay the rest of his suspicions to rest while he was at it. "Are you familiar with kenjutsu Mr. Saito?"

He shrugged noncommittally, not willing to give too much away this early in the game of cat and mouse. "A little. Why?"

"Then you should be aware that there are some styles that guard their techniques jealously and have been doing so for centuries. Please don't pursue this. I won't ask which school _you_ belong to if you give me the same courtesy."

Saito smirked and ignored the fact that he knew his grandfather would approve of what Myoujin was saying. "You are aware that such narrow-minded thinking went out of style at least a century ago, right?"

Kenshin's eyes narrowed slightly, giving his youthful features an almost frightening intense expression that sent a shiver of recognition up Saito's spine and caused the fine hairs on his arms to stand on end with sudden alert anticipation and he found himself wishing for a...sword?  How many times had he seen an identical expression on a face so similar to this man's in his dreams…or rather nightmares?  It was more than a little eerie in his opinion. He blinked and focused on the other man again. "You aren't a very likable person, are you?"

A moment passed, and then he shrugged, his expression returning to innocuous innocence once again. "The name's on the front door, you know."

Saito scowled irritably. "So what's this bull about it bein' a secret then?" He chose to cover his momentary confusion with gruff annoyance.

"I was yanking your chain." He laughed brightly, expression crinkling into a one of good natured humor, blue eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth and turned to a desk in the corner of the room.

"You know, I don't think I like you very much, kid." And that was an understatement and a half. Saito was just about ready to throttle the young man for his aggravating performance.

"Oh…that's too bad. And here I thought we could be on the same bowling team." He turned, holding a long object wrapped in a blanket, the shape sparking a momentary awareness in Saito's mind. "And for the last time, I'm not a kid."

"Sure. Whatever. What's that?" He pointed at the item Kenshin was holding carefully, disturbed by the certainty that it was indeed a sword without having seen it yet.

"It's the sakabatou I told you about on the phone." He moved towards a table under a hanging lamp, steps catlike and silent. "Could you get the light? The switch is beside you."

Saito reached over and flipped the indicated switch. He found himself staring at a wall covered with framed diplomas, the fluorescent light reflecting off the glass covered surfaces. He frowned and peered closer. Or were they degrees? He moved closer and let out a low whistle. "So…you some kind of genius or somethin'?" Everywhere he looked he saw the young man's name.

"Not likely." Saito glanced over his shoulder and watched as he set his burden on the table carefully. "It's called spending a lot of years in the classroom, Mr. Saito." He unwrapped the blanket and Saito stepped closer.

"It looks old." He studied the smooth sheath and leather bound hilt. "Very old." He amended. Again, he felt his hair try to stand on end. He _knew_ this sword. He took an involuntary half step back from the table and shook his head, focusing on Myoujin again, studying his hands and seeing the unmistakable signs of a practicing swordsman. His eyes moved back to the sword and he suppressed a shudder. _How many times have I seen this sword in my dreams?_ Right down to the intricate detail of the hilt…it was the same. He coughed into his hand and thrust the disturbing thoughts from his mind. It was a coincidence…that was all. An eerie coincidence… Saito was beginning to really dislike coincidences.  There were too many surrounding Kenshin Myoujin and his sword for Saito's peace of mind.

"It was forged in 1867, Mr. Saito, by Arai Shaku in Japan at the end of the Bakumatsu. This is the Principle Forge. There was one other, but it was broken in 1878."

"What's a baku-whatever you called it?" He stepped closer and frowned at the unmistakable stains…blood, and recent. He pushed all other thoughts from his mind and focused instead on what his client was saying.

"Bakumatsu. It was the revolution that changed the course of Japan's history."

"So this is pretty valuable, huh?" He tilted his head to the side, studying the sheath and hilt before deciding that it was probably one of the least appealing objects he'd seen in some time. Ugly was a word that came to mind. The sheath was plain, unadorned, its surface cracked and obviously missing chunks here and there. The hilt of the sword itself was stained, the leather cracking from obvious neglect.

"No. It's worthless, actually. Unless you look at it from an historian's point of view." Kenshin lifted the sheathed sword and slowly drew the blade from the scabbard. Saito's eyes widened fractionally as he stared at the smooth surface of the blade. Except for the dried blood, the surface was in remarkably good condition. "I didn't clean it yet. I thought maybe the blood could be analyzed."

"Good thinking…but you shouldn't have touched it, you know." When he received a blank look, Saito elaborated. "Fingerprints. You know, individual signatures left by whoever used this sword."

"Oh." He sighed and shook his head. "Is this where I say 'oops'?"

"Great excuse. I'm sure the forensics experts will appreciate your wit, Myoujin." Saito shook his head with a grimace. "So…you mentioned on the phone that someone took it and then brought it back. When did this happen?"

"Um…which time?" Saito's jaw dropped at the unexpected reply. "It's been disappearing and reappearing off and on over the past couple of months. I thought my father was taking it until it came back two days ago like this."

Saito almost asked if he ever actually _spoke_ to his father, but decided to bite his tongue on that subject. He didn't exactly have a lot of room to be lecturing the younger man on the subject of family loyalties. He sighed inwardly, silently acknowledging that he really ought to call his grandfather sometime soon. "By any chance, did you happen to report this unusual phenomenon to the police?"

"I tried to, but they just hung up…like you did, Mr. Saito." He shrugged and pushed the blade back into its sheath. "For some reason they weren't very concerned with what they called 'magic knives'. I didn't bother trying the police a second time." Carefully, he wrapped the sakabatou in the blanket again. "I called you instead."

"Lucky me." Saito leaned back against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest, gaze narrowed on the way the other man handled the sword so expertly. There was no question in his mind that Kenshin Myoujin was indeed the inheritor of the Myoujin School of Kendou. He'd probably been in training since before he could walk. "So…why me?"

The other man shrugged with a slight, mocking smile. "I like irony, Mr. Saito."

"Come again?" Saito scowled at his client, not liking the underlying hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Tell me…why did you choose the name 'Four City Investigations'?"

"I liked the sound of it. Why?" Saito wasn't about to tell the annoying little jerk that the name just popped into his head one day while listening to his grandfather babble half in English and half in Japanese.

Kenshin laughed and propped his hip against the table, folding his arms over his chest. "Interesting. Have you ever heard of the Keishichou?" Saito shook his head sharply. "The irony is that if you break down the word it essentially translates as the city agency of criminal punishment. It's the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, formed in 1874 to cover the entire capital district of Tokyo…but I won't bore you with details, Mr. Saito." Saito scowled, but refrained from commenting. "If you take each syllable and insert the homonyms, you get 'Four City Investigations'. Ironic, yes?" He laughed again, blue eyes dancing with merriment. "Even _more_ ironic is that your own family is connected to the Keishichou. Did you know that? No…of course you don't. Saito Hajime…only he went by the name Fujita Goro at that time. He was also a captain in the Shinsengumi…the third squad I believe…which was a patrol group formed by the Tokugawa Shogunate from several rounin…masterless samurai…as a type of specialized policing unit for the Kyoto area during the height of the Bakumatsu. Mostly for crowd control, you could say."

Saito blinked and stared, stunned momentarily speechless. Finally he cleared his throat. "What, exactly, do you do Mr. Myoujin?"

"I teach history, Mr. Saito…specifically Japanese history. Oh…" He pushed away from the table. "And to be technical it's _Dr._ Myoujin." He pointed to the frames on the wall. "That's where all of those came from."

"Aren't you a little young to be a teacher? Never mind being a doctor."

Kenshin rolled his eyes. "I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Saito. Hardly a child, wouldn't you say? And I'm not a medical doctor. It's a Ph.D. in history…nothing to do with medicine."

Saito nodded slowly. "Got it." He looked the smaller man up and down. "Twenty-eight, huh? You must get ID'd a lot."

"Very funny. A real riot." He gestured to the rewrapped sword on the table. "So…can you help me?"

"Maybe…but I doubt you'll thank me." He smiled humorlessly. "It all depends on what you want, _Dr._ Myoujin." He put exaggerated emphasis on the title. "If all you want is for your sword…"

"Sakabatou."

He ignored the interruption. "To be checked by forensics, I can get that done. But I seriously doubt you'd like the results."

"What do you mean?" The other man looked puzzled…and a little apprehensive.

"If your 'prints are the only ones on there, _you're_ going to be the prime suspect if it turns out this was the weapon in any of the recent murders."

"Me?" The word came out somewhat resembling a squeak rather than a word.  He looked shocked. "But…it would have my fingerprints anyway, Mr. Saito. I use this sakabatou when practicing kenjutsu."

"Then you're screwed, Myoujin. Unless they find other 'prints, that is." He was enjoying seeing the other man squirm.

"Uh…what are my other options?" Kenshin didn't look very well. Saito smirked.

"Well…first you better make certain you have ironclad alibis for the nights of the murders…next, get a good lawyer…and third, start praying."

"That isn't very helpful, Saito."

He shrugged and pointed at the smaller man. "So…how much of an expert are you when it comes to kenjutsu?"

"I'm the Assistant Master of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu…and…um…Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu. But that isn't widely known."

Saito started and stared at him in disbelief. "Did you say…Hiten Mitsurugi Style?" Kenshin nodded slowly. Saito narrowed his eyes and stepped to the side. "I find that interesting." His instincts had been right from the start. Under different circumstances he might even be gloating.

"Why is that?" Kenshin watched Saito warily. "What are you doing, Mr. Saito?"

"Putting some distance between us, of course." Saito judged the distance to the front doors and grimaced inwardly. It was too far. He'd have to brazen this out and hope for the best. "It was believed that the Hiten Mitsurugi Style, known as the Assassin's Blade, died with Hitokiri Battousai in Japan."

"His name was Himura Kenshin and he died in 1880, Mr. Saito. However, his master, Hiko Seijuurou the thirteenth, was still living at that time." He gestured towards the blanket wrapped sword on the table beside him. "This was Himura's sakabatou, which was passed on to Myoujin Yahiko, from whom I'm descended. He was taught the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu and the style has been passed down through the generations and I, myself, am now in effect Hiko Seijuurou the nineteenth…though I don't go by that name, of course." His eyes narrowed, changing impossibly from blue to amber. "However, you are mistaken about one thing, Saito." Even his voice seemed to change. The soft, almost melodious tones were replaced by a much harsher, dangerous sounding quality. It was eerie, Saito thought with a carefully concealed shudder. "The Hiten Mitsurugi is _not_ the Assassin's Blade. I believe that honor is reserved for you Gatoutsu…but who's pointing fingers, right?"

"How did you…" He bit back the rest of his startled question, eyes narrowed dangerously on the other man's cold expression. Every instinct within him screamed that this man was dangerous and that he should watch his back around him if he wanted to ensure that he didn't find himself joining the ranks of the dead.

"How did I know that you use the Gatoutsu? One, you're left handed. Two, it was a technique created by Saito Hajime. And three…" He grinned suddenly. "It was a good guess."

Saito nodded slowly, expression revealing his growing distaste. "I take back my earlier statement."

"Which statement was that?"

"The one where I said I don't think I like you." Kenshin tilted his head to the side curiously, a slight mocking smile curving his lips. Saito gritted his teeth, feeling his irritation grow. "I _know_ I don't like you."

Kenshin shrugged, unconcerned. "I'll try to contain my disappointment." Saito could almost appreciate the younger man's humor…almost. "So…why do you think you need a kenjutsu expert?"

"I have some pictures. Care to take a look?"

"What kind of pictures, Mr. Saito?" Saito noted that Kenshin looked interested despite his cautious attitude.

"Murder victims. The reports say something to the effect of cuts with a sharp object, like a knife. Personally, I think they look like wounds created by a sword…specifically a katana."

"Well…I'm not certain if I'll be of any help…but I'll take a look if you want." Saito nodded and reached inside his jacket, pulling the envelope containing the photographs from his inside pocket. Kenshin took it slowly and pulled them out, shuffling through them quickly before looking up at Saito again. "They're all women, Mr. Saito." He nodded, watching the younger man closely as he looked at the pictures again, carefully examining each of them before moving on to the next one. "Well…it looks as if you're right about it being done by a katana…"

"Yes?" Saito frowned, his suspicions aroused. Kenshin Myoujin wasn't reacting the way most people would. He didn't appear to be affected at all by the brutality depicted in the photographs of the recently murdered women.

"But…" Kenshin's brows drew together in a contemplative frown as he moved closer to the light. "I'm not positive…but I think these wounds were created by my sakabatou, Mr. Saito." He looked up, catching the suspicious scowl on the older man's face. "The blade, being reversed, would leave distinctive cuts, you see. The curve is opposite to a regular katana."

Saito nodded once, sharply. "Yes, I figured that out. So…any idea which technique?"

Kenshin studied the other man's tense features with a frown. "You think I did it, don't you?"

Saito started in surprise and hastily cleared his throat. "I didn't say…"

The younger man waved his hand impatiently. "I don't care what you think. I didn't do it. First, the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is much more distinct than this…specifically, you couldn't mistake anything else for it if you saw it even once. It kills instantly, leaving no room for maybes." Saito wondered what that was supposed to mean. "Second, the Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu is practiced with shinai's and bokken's…not katana's. Last I checked, wooden swords don't cut. And third…if I did it, why would I turn myself in?"

"Why indeed?" Saito studied the smaller man for a moment and finally chose to refrain from pointing out that many murderers chose to divert suspicion from them by being overtly helpful during investigation, even providing crucial evidence that could point towards themselves, in the hopes of throwing the investigation elsewhere. "Could you _prove_ that this isn't your sword style?" He gestured at the photographs, not taking his eyes from his client's thoughtful expression for even an instant, wanting instead to catch every nuance in his manner to better judge if he should be taking the case or merely calling the cops instead the moment he was out of sight of the younger man.

He nodded emphatically. "Unquestionably, yes. The Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu focuses on defense and only defense. There is _one_ offensive technique in the entire style and I can assure you that it doesn't produce anything like this, even if a katana were to be used."

"And the Hiten Mitsurugi Style?"

Kenshin sighed and motioned for Saito to follow him. "I won't use the sakabatou, Mr. Saito. I have a katana in the practice hall…locked in a steel case if you're wondering." He looked over his shoulder with a tight smile. "And before you ask why the sakabatou wasn't locked away, too, I'll tell you I honestly didn't think someone would steal it. As I said…it's worthless on the market."

Saito looked around the hall curiously. "It's…big." He finally said.

"It has to be. The Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu demands a lot of space." He pointed to the side of the hall. "Please stand over there, Mr. Saito. It's difficult to stop quickly when using these techniques." Saito nodded slowly. From what he'd heard, the Hiten Mitsurugi Style was speed redefined. He had a feeling this was about to become interesting. He watched as Kenshin opened what looked suspiciously like a gun cabinet and withdrew a katana. The smaller man then pointed to a straw target set up in the middle of the hall. "I'll demonstrate one of the forms…Ryu Tsui Sen, to be exact." He grinned at the older man. "It's my favorite." He sobered again. "Remember, every technique used in the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu will have similar results, Mr. Saito."

Saito pointed at the weapon the other man held loosely with keen interest. "That's a nice looking katana, Myoujin." This weapon was in much better shape than the sakabatou, the sheath well cared for, the hilt obviously recently oiled and worked.

"Thank you. It belonged to Hiko Seijuurou the thirteenth. I don't know anything about its history before that." He held it up by the sheath with a smile. "_This_ is worth quite a bit of money, Mr. Saito."

Saito watched as the smaller man backed away from the target. "Aren't you a little far from the target, Myoujin?" Not surprisingly, his comment was ignored.

The next instant Kenshin all but disappeared as he moved forward, drawing the katana, his hand a mere blur. _He's fast!_ Saito's eyes narrowed as he tried to follow Kenshin's movements knowing that for an untrained eye this would be next to impossible. The younger man was just too fast. For a moment he seemed to pause and then he jumped high above the straw target. "Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu…Ryu Tsui Sen." He came down, blade first, and landed in a crouch, swiftly sheathing the katana. Saito watched in awe, despite himself, as the target fell in two pieces, sliced neatly in half. "There you have it, Mr. Saito." He stood slowly, partially turned away from Saito, head bowed and hair falling into his eyes hiding his expression from the other man's close scrutiny, tone tense. "If it was the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu used in those murders, the poor women wouldn't just be cut…" He slowly lifted his head to stare at Saito with cold, amber eyes, expression implacable. "They'd be in pieces."


	3. Chapter 2 REVISED July 1 2004

**_Revised _****_July 1 2004_****__**

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**_Summary:_**_  Women are dieing, being slashed by a blade that is all too familiar. Can the crimes be solved before it's too late? And why do all the victims resemble one particular woman from the past? A/U: Reincarnation Fic._

_Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha Fuji-TV SME Visual Works Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment_

_All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale._

**The Hitokiri Returns**

By:  Chiruken

Chapter 2

**_2000_******

Saito slammed the door to his office closed with a well-placed kick, reaching to the side to flick the familiar black switch set in a scuffed and scratched chrome plate located conveniently just inside the battered and well-used door, illuminating his office with the flickering light from a bare sixty watt bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling and tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of his favorite chair, shoving his keys into his pocket automatically as he crossed the room, stepping around the familiar clutter with practiced ease. Though it hadn't exactly been a waste of time, his 'visit' with Kenshin Myoujin hadn't been what he'd call satisfying. He didn't like the smaller man and his superior attitude. Saito scowled and dropped onto the well-used sofa in the corner of his office with a groan, ignoring the uncomfortable poking of the springs jabbing into his nether regions. _Someday I gotta replace this thing..._ It was a distant thought as he leaned back, arms spread along the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other with the ankle resting on his knee comfortably as he stared up at the ceiling sightlessly while contemplating his new client. Maybe 'superior' wasn't the right way of putting it. Whatever it was about the younger man, it was irritating. Sitting upright again, he allowed his eyes to roam over the familiar room with a half smile, remembering how neat Kenshin's office had been. _He'd probably have a fit if he saw my office…_ He chuckled at the thought and made a mental note to avoid bring the younger man to his office if he could possibly do so.

He found it disturbing how familiar the younger man had been.  There were so many things about him that struck a chord of recognition within Saito's mind.  He didn't want to admit it, but the smaller man gave him the creeps.  First impressions were generally the best way for him to judge a persons character, but in the case of Kenshin Myoujin, Saito was disinclined to go with appearances.  He'd sensed that beneath the innocuous and quiet exterior the other man was a very complex individual with just a hint of danger clinging to him.  And of course, there was that unmistakable feeling of knowing him from somewhere else.  He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he _knew_ they'd met before in a different place, a different time.  He didn't know how he knew it, but his gut hunches were rarely wrong.  There was also the eerie fact that he'd been dreaming about him for years now…for as long as Saito could remember he'd been seeing Kenshin Myoujin in his dreams and he didn't consider that to be at all reassuring since those dreams always left him with a disturbed feeling of intense sorrow and lingering unease.  He shook the lingering thoughts away and forcibly turned his mind away from the disconcerting certainty that he was somehow connected to Kenshin Myoujin on a deeper level than merely a client and consultant based relationship.  It was just too unsettling to contemplate.  He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to be connected to the other man in any way beyond that of a pay cheque coming his way once the case was satisfactorily closed.

He shifted until he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, breath emerging on a sigh as he allowed his muscles to relax for the first time since his new client's phone call earlier that evening. It was funny, though. Kenshin Myoujin kind of reminded him of himself at that age…arrogant and so sure of himself he couldn't _possibly_ take a fall. The young man was about to get a rude awakening if the police got a hold of his sakabatou. He'd fall so hard and far that he'd _never_ get up again and his family's money and influence wouldn't be worth a damn. If it came down to that, nothing would save him. It was amazing what ten years had taught him. He shook his head and forced the uneasy thoughts aside. He didn't want to feel any sort of affinity with the arrogant history professor beyond what he already felt thanks to the damnable recurring dreams. Saito sighed in resignation. He didn't like him, but he couldn't let him take the blame for something he obviously didn't do. He stood and grabbed his phone off his desk, punching the call return. An instant later he was counting rings.

It was answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Scratch what I said earlier, Myoujin. Keep that sakabatou under wraps for the time bein'." He dropped again onto the worn sofa, wincing at the protesting groan of the weary springs as he bounced up again with a grimace and sat again, this time in a different spot…one devoid of exposed springs. Tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he shifted and searched his pockets for his cigarettes with a scowl drawing the corners of his mouth down, eyes narrowed as he waited for the other man's response to his statement.

"Mr. Saito?" He frowned at the odd note in the other's voice, his senses coming to full alert. "Um…I don't think that'll be much of a problem now."

"What are you talking about?" He pulled the pack out of his back pocket his scowl deepening further. He _hated_ flattened cigarettes…almost as much as he hated arrogant smart asses like Kenshin Myoujin. He smirked at the thought an amused glint entering his eyes. He wondered what the other man would say if he knew how Saito regarded him. With an inner shrug, he acknowledged that he could care less what his conceited client thought one way or the other just as long as he got paid for his services.  Recurring dreams aside, he doubted the other man and he could ever have a relationship of friendship due to the continued antagonism they obviously felt towards one another which suited him just fine.  There was something about the other man that made his hair stand on end when he'd met him earlier that evening.

"It's gone again."

The words were uttered flatly, devoid of any emotion. It took a moment for the meaning of the statement to sink in and penetrate Saito's inner thoughts. When understanding dawned, Saito dropped the phone and scrambled to pick it up again, cursing the whole time with an amazing show of uncharacteristic imagination as he dropped his cigarettes in his haste to retrieve the telephone, loose tobacco spilling from the pack and littering the scuffed hardwood floor. Juggling the two items he popped back up and hastily pressed the phone to his ear again, face red from having the blood rush to it from the awkward position, using his foot to brush the dry tobacco into concealment under the sofa automatically. "What?! It's…gone?" The words emerged on an incredulous shout as he surged to his feet again to pace around the tight and cluttered confines of his office, raking his hand through his hair in agitation, before sitting again perched on the edge of the sofa fingering the crushed cigarette package in a rare show of nerves stretched beyond endurance. Kenshin Myoujin had a disturbing effect on his normally tightly controlled reactions and he didn't like it one little bit. It made him want to do some serious physical violence to the short history professor.

"You don't have to shout. Yes, it's gone. It must have happened while I was in the shower. What do I do now?"

"First…don't panic." Saito sighed and leaned forward when he dropped his matches, uncomfortably aware that Kenshin's tone didn't reveal any of the characteristic signs of panic setting in. If anything, he sounded almost bored. He shook his head, understanding the younger man's reaction better than he'd like to. _Poor bastard's in shock._ He was annoying, yes…but he was still a client and therefore throttling him was definitely out of the question. _Especially in light of his current mental state._ He thought with a grimace. He new it would be bad form to further push his buttons when he was so close to the edge to begin with. "Have you considered that maybe you should keep it locked up?" His tone betrayed his understanding and momentary feelings of compassion. He settled the telephone between his ear and shoulder again and gingerly rubbed his temple where he felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming.  He had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a long night.

"The thought has occurred to me recently. But that does nothing to help me now!" Saito winced at the unmistakable alarm creeping into the other man's tone, a startling contrast to his previous calm. "What if it's being used to kill again? That sakabatou was created as a weapon of peace…intended to protect without killing. It must be found!" He could almost see Kenshin pacing around his office in agitation as his unmistakable panic grew.  He was almost relieved at the very human reaction he was now displaying.  His previous tightly controlled calm had been more than a little disturbing in light of the possible consequences of the occurrences of the evening.  There was no doubt in Saito's mind that his client's sword was once again being used to kill which didn't look good for his case.  One good thing about it…at least he was guilty of nothing more than blatant stupidity.

Saito shook his head with a silent sigh of resignation. Kenshin Myoujin wasn't about to relax, but he definitely had to get his priorities straightened out and fast. Ideals were all well and good just as long as they didn't get in the way of reality. "Look, whether it was meant for peace, hope and charity or not is a moot point, Myoujin. It's being used as a murder weapon and that's definitely not good."  He snorted softly, somewhat amused by his understatement of the obvious.  "Finding whoever is taking it should be the top priority here." He stuck a bent and flattened cigarette in his mouth and tore a single match free of its resting place in the book. He paused for a moment to rearrange the mangled cigarette between his lips before striking the sulphur head against the striking strip. "Any signs of forced entry?" He spoke around the filter before touching the flaming match to the tip of the cigarette, the acrid scent of the burning match-head drifting up into his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar scent.

"Like broken windows?" Saito rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. "Smashed doors? What exactly should I be looking for, here, Mr. Saito?"

"All of the above and then some. The guy had to get in somehow, right?" He sighed and stood, patting his pockets in a quick search for his keys. "Look, don't touch anything. I'm coming over and _I'll_ check it out, all right?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Don't touch anything…got it." The line went abruptly dead.

Saito shook his head and grabbed his jacket as he tossed the telephone onto the sofa, watching it bounce once before sliding to a rest next to the threadbare armrest farthest from him. Squinting his eyes against the tendrils of smoke drifting upwards to obscure his vision with stinging wisps from the cigarette dangling from his mouth he shoved his arms impatiently into his jacket.  Shaking his head he removed the cigarette from between his lips to tap the ash into the overflowing ashtray.  "Moron."  Saito strode purposely towards the door and yanked it open with more force than was absolutely necessary, pausing to flick off the light switch throwing his office into semi darkness, the neon lights lining the streets shining in through the window, the battered blinds not doing much to stop the light from sneaking into the shadowed space.  With a final shake of his head he slammed the door shut, checking to ensure that it was locked and stomped down the stairs to the street.

****

Saito studied the large double doors with a scowl and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, taking note of how solid they appeared from the exterior. Nothing. Not a scratch, mark or splinter marring the scuff-free wooden surface. Even the metal scuff plates were devoid of marks, the muted light cast by the street lamps lining the street at regular intervals reflected in the highly polished surface at the base of the double doors. He wondered for a moment if his client polished the scuff plates to bring out the sheen he was observing.  He shrugged and pushed the thought aside as being unimportant and a waste of valuable time.  Obviously the front door hadn't been used to break in. He raised his hand to knock, eyes straying to the sign written in Asian calligraphy. _What I wouldn't do to know what exactly that says…maybe I should bring Jii-san by to check it out…_ He abandoned the thought almost as soon as it formed. He didn't want his grandfather anywhere near Kenshin Myoujin…it would be too embarrassing to listen to him complain about how untraditional his ungrateful grandson was. He was certain Myoujin would be more than sympathetic towards the old man. _Probably talk to him in Japanese and earn a few extra brownie points…_ "Can I open the door now, Mr. Saito?" He blinked at the muffled, but distinct question, jarred out of his sarcastic and uncharitable thoughts by the timely interruption.

"Uh…yeah." He lowered his hand as the door swung open. "How'd you do that?" He frowned down at his client, taking in his pale countenance and anxious expression.

"I'm psychic, didn't you know?" Saito scowled at the sarcasm in the other man's tone, his good feelings towards him winking out of existence in an instant in the face of his obvious sardonic attitude. "It's called security cameras, Mr. Saito."

"Security…" He began only to bite back the rest of his statement with a forceful curse as he reached out and grabbed the smaller man by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the wall, using his foot to slam the door closed with enough force it rattled against the jamb, the brass door-knocker clanking twice. "Did you say security cameras, Myoujin?" He stared hard into his startled blue gaze. Kenshin nodded quickly. "So…if you have security cameras, why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"It…uh…slipped my mind. Saito…could you put me down, please?" Saito lifted his lip in a blatant snarl and shook his client roughly, hoping that he rattled some intelligence into his obviously empty head.

"You are such a moron." He released the other man abruptly and turned sharply away, raking a hand through his hair in agitation.  He didn't want to explore why the smaller man rattled his usually calm nerves so easily.  He'd never met anyone who could irritate him as easily as Kenshin Myoujin.  It was a fact he didn't much care for.  "Why don't you show me the tapes now?"  The sooner he completed this assignment, the better he'd feel, he was certain of that.  He couldn't wait to see the last of his current client.

"I'd love to…but they're gone, too." Kenshin straightened his clothes with an irritated scowl. "Did you _have_ to pick me up by my shirt, Saito?"

"I could've used your neck." He looked around the dim interior. "For God's sake, turn on some lights. I can't see a thing in the dark."  The other man's seeming propensity to the dark and mysterious was grating on Saito and the dimness of the interior of the building was making his hair try to stand on end, a feeling he wasn't particularly fond of.

"You're not a very likeable guy, are you?" He turned and opened a panel, revealing a row of switches.

"I'm not here to win popularity contests, Myoujin." Saito blinked in the sudden brightness. He looked around curiously.  "What kind of doujou is this?"  It certainly didn't look like any other doujou Saito had ever been in before and he felt his curiosity rise another notch.  His client was one mystery after another, yet one more reason he found the other man irritating.  He didn't like mysteries, whether they be in the form of novels, movies or people.  It left too many questions for his normally orderly mind to try to find answers for and he certainly didn't want to know more than absolutely necessary about his current client.

"It's my house, Mr. Saito…not an actual doujou, though it does have a training hall."

"Why would you live in a neighbourhood like this?" It seemed odd that a man with as much money as Kenshin Myoujin had would choose to live in such a rough area.  He sighed inwardly, acknowledging that he'd risen to the bait and was now intent on unraveling the mystery known as Kenshin Myoujin.  He longed for a bottle of pain killers as he felt his temples begin to throb as his tension rose.

"I like the ambiance." Saito scowled at him irritably. "It's close to the campus where I teach, Saito. I'm in walking distance…which means I don't have to worry about parking."

"Oh." Saito shrugged and turned away. "All right, where's the back door?" Without answering, Kenshin led him through the house…which looked more like an old warehouse to him…to the back. Saito studied the door with a frown. "Do you lock your doors, Myoujin?"

"Of course I do. Despite your obvious low opinion of my level of intelligence, I'm not an idiot."

Saito snorted derisively choosing to remain silent rather than voice his opinion on that front. "Any other ways to get in here?"

"The windows on the second floor…but they're barred." So much for his idea. He frowned thoughtfully. Locked doors and barred windows…no signs of forced entry. Security cameras and missing tapes. It was beginning to sound rather suspicious to him.

"Does anyone else have the key?"

"Aside from my father?" Saito nodded. "Not that I know of. Why?"

Saito shrugged and leaned back against the wall to study the smaller man. "So…have you chosen a good lawyer yet?"

"I'm not amused, Saito. I need help, not bad jokes." Kenshin raked a hand through his wet hair. Saito frowned. So…he'd been honest about something at least.

"I need the truth, not elaborate lies. You better start leveling with me, Myoujin, or you're going to be locked away for a very long time."

"I _gave_ you the truth, Saito. Do you honestly believe anyone would be stupid enough to make up such a ridiculous story?" Kenshin turned away and began pacing. "I told you before that I didn't do it. Why won't you believe me?"

"I _believe_ that your technique wasn't the one used to kill those women. I _believe_ that you're a smart ass without the brains to think up an elaborate plan like this. And I _believe_ you're a moron for not leveling with me. But…I _know_ you aren't telling me everything." He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a direct stare at the smaller man. "I suggest starting at the beginning and _not_ leaving any details out this time."

Kenshin sighed and shook his head. "All right, all right. I won't argue with you.  Do you want a drink, Mr. Saito?"

"Coffee. Black." He followed him to the kitchen. Saito looked around with a scowl. "You don't spend a lot of time here, do you?" It was kind of creepy how clean the kitchen was. He made a mental note to _never_ invite the smaller man into his home. By the looks of things the homey clutter he enjoyed would probably send Kenshin Myoujin over the deep end.

"I don't know how to answer that." Saito blinked and stared as Kenshin opened and closed cupboard doors, withdrawing a spotless coffee maker, can of coffee, and a filter. "I don't go out much, it that's what you mean, but I don't spend all my time in here." Saito watched in fascination as Kenshin meticulously measured exact portions of coffee. "Strong?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like your coffee to be strong enough to melt your spoon or do you have a normal stomach?"

"Uh…normal I think." The smaller man carefully closed the coffee can and placed it back in the cupboard before turning to the sink. _He isn't normal._ Saito thought dazedly as Kenshin filled the pot and poured it into the reservoir on the coffee maker, and then turned back to the sink to wipe it dry, pausing to lift the pot again to wipe its bottom as well as the shiny clean hot plate beneath it before replacing the pot once again.

"You said black, right?" He turned and caught Saito's stunned expression. "Is something wrong?"

He shook himself and quickly nodded. "Hell yes. Are you some kind of neat freak?"

Kenshin shrugged and retrieved a cup. "I like things to be clean and orderly, Mr. Saito."

Saito frowned thoughtfully. "I see. So the blood on the sakabatou must've driven you nuts, huh?"

"It isn't good for the blade to sit like that without cleaning it. It'll rust." He gestured to the table. "Have a seat. The coffee'll be a minute." He pulled out a chair and perched on the edge of it. "And yes, it was difficult to remember to not clean it."

"I imagine it would've been." He sat slowly and pulled a note pad from his jacket along with his highlighter. He really had to remember to buy pens in the morning. "How about you begin by telling me when the sakabatou first went missing, all right?"

"Would you like a pen, Mr. Saito?" He looked up and scowled at Kenshin's amused expression. "Or do you prefer fluorescent pink?"

"I'm fine, thanks." The other man shrugged with a grin, clearly amused by the situation. "Fine. A pen would be nice."

"I thought so." He stood and crossed to the counter, opening a drawer. "Any preference for colour?"

Saito gritted his teeth. "No." He answered flatly. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you, Myoujin."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He tossed the pen onto the table.

"I can't think of anyone who'd like your sarcastic attitude." He smirked at the younger man's annoyed expression. "A little close to home, huh?"

"Think whatever you want, Saito." He turned his back on Saito. "Coffee's ready."

"You do realize the police will investigate your background thoroughly…including your social relationships." Kenshin paused in the act of pouring coffee, shoulders stiff. "You know how it is. They'll bring in a psychologist or a profiler…call it whatever you want…and they'll pick you apart piece by piece and put you together again like a human jigsaw puzzle. Any discrepancies in your personality and you're sunk…of course, I've never heard of anyone being convicted and locked up for being an asshole."

Kenshin set the mug on the counter with a bang, leaning forward, shoulders shaking. Saito studied him in mild surprise, wondering if he was about to see the infamous Myoujin temper whispered about around town. A moment later, Kenshin gasped and tuned to face Saito again, doubling over with laughter. "That's real mature, Saito. I thought name calling was usually left behind in grade school." He straightened slowly, blue eyes reflecting his amusement. _Or are they blue?_ Saito frowned slightly. Now that he got a good look under decent lighting, he could've sworn the younger man's eyes weren't just an ordinary blue…but more like a soft violet colour. Shaking his head imperceptibly, Saito pushed the odd thought from his mind. _Who cares what colour his eyes are? He's an ass…though the ladies probably don't care…_ He focused on his client again. "You're one to talk, you know. I doubt you'll receive any awards for being Mr. Congeniality anytime soon."

"So you're saying I'm right?"

Kenshin shook his head with a grin. "I prefer solitude, but I do have friends…not that it's any of your business, Saito." He set the mug on the table in front of Saito.

"I suggest you start taking this seriously, Myoujin. If you don't you just might find yourself laughing your way to prison." The younger man sobered instantly. "Much better." Saito turned his attention back to his notepad. "All right. Let's try this again. When did the sakabatou first go missing?"

"Two months ago." Saito made a quick note and looked up expectantly. "It was returned two days later, cleaned of course." Saito nodded and wrote the information down. "A couple of weeks later it happened again, the same as before. It's been like that for two months until a couple of days ago when my sakabatou came back with blood on the blade. Now, two days later, it's gone again."

"How many times, exactly, did it go missing?" This was the clincher in his theory. Depending on the answer, he could have the break he needed, or he'd be blown out of the water.

"Including this time?" Saito nodded and leaned forward. "Five times."

"Five?" He repeated, barely containing his excitement. This was it. To date there'd been four murders involving women with what Saito had recognized as a katana blade's wounding pattern. Kenshin nodded slowly, leaning away from him. "Well, well…now we're getting somewhere."

"Uh…where, exactly, would that be?"

"If I'm right…and it looks like I am…there'll be another murder tonight."

Kenshin paled. "And this is…good?" He sounded appalled. "Saito…someone could _die_ tonight…by _my_ sakabatou…"

"Yes…but look at it this way. Now we know it wasn't you…right?" He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head with a satisfied smirk.

"I _know_ it wasn't me, you pompous jerk!" Kenshin stood and began pacing around the kitchen. "You're missing the point entirely. If the killer is targeting women, then another innocent woman will die tonight. My sakabatou will take another life. It has to be stopped, Saito!"

"Sit down, Myoujin. I'm not happy about another woman being murdered, but at least we're getting closer to stopping this. We know the killer is using _your_ sakabatou. He takes it…and returns it. That means it'll come back."

"I'm sure the woman who dies tonight will appreciate your logic." He sighed and sat again. "Can I see those photographs again?"

"Sure. Why?" Saito pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of his client.  He watched the other man closely, still curious about his earlier reaction…or rather non-reaction…to the grisly photographs of the murder victims.  He reached for his mug and took a slow sip of the hot coffee, surprised at how good it tasted.  He had to grudgingly admit this was the best cup of coffee he'd had in a long time.  It certainly beat the mud he was capable of producing.

Kenshin set the photos on the table in front of himself and frowned thoughtfully before removing all the pictures except for the four taken of the victims faces. "Did you notice anything strange about these women, Saito?"  He asked with a thoughtful frown.

He scowled and leaned forward. "No. Should I have?"  He set his mug on the table again and looked between his client and the faces of the dead women.

"They all look alike…well…kind of. Black hair, blue eyes…young, pretty. They're all very similar…and probably built the same, too." He pulled out the other photographs again. "I'm not sure…but…" He frowned, studying each picture closely. "They all look to be…um…small."

"Small? Give me those." He snatched the photos and scowled at them. "You mean short, right?"

"Being of a similar height disadvantage, I prefer vertically challenged, Mr. Saito."

Saito looked up quickly. "Whatever. Short is short." He set the pictures on the table again. "So…he's after short, pretty, young, blue-eyed, black-haired women. That doesn't really help, you know."  He pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "Unless you take into account that they all appear to be Asian."

"I thought it did." He sighed and leaned back again, closing his eyes. Saito frowned. Kenshin Myoujin was uncannily familiar, though to the best of his knowledge they'd never met before.  It was downright creepy, he decided.  Suddenly Kenshin straightened and smacked a palm to his forehead. "Oh…oh…I'm such an idiot!" He jumped to his feet, clearly excited about something.

"No arguments from here." Saito muttered under his breath, silently adding crazy to his assessment.  The smaller man, he decided, was beginning to remind him of someone on a caffeine overdose.  He could almost see him vibrating his barely contained energy as he shifted from one foot to another and stared into space for a moment before turning his gaze back to the photographs still laid out on the table.

He shifted his gaze back to Saito for a moment.  "Wait here…I'll be right back." He turned for the door nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry before pausing and turning back to the still seated man. "No, on second thought…come with me…and bring the photos."

Saito scowled and stood, gathering the photographs. "Now what? Do you just happen to have an album stashed away somewhere detailing all the women around here matching the description of these ones?"

Kenshin spared him a brief glare though there wasn't much heat behind it.  "No…and save the sarcasm." Saito followed him up the stairs to the second floor. "In here, Saito." He turned into a door off to the side of the hall, reaching to the side and flicking on a light.  Soft, muted light filled the sparsely furnished room.

Saito looked around himself with a frown. "Your bedroom?" Kenshin nodded and jumped onto the bed, reaching up to a photograph hanging on the wall. "What's that?" He moved closer, watching as the younger man brushed his fingers over the glass with a strange expression crossing his youthful features.

"This was a photograph taken in Yokohama in 1877, Mr. Saito." He stepped off the bed and landed lightly beside Saito. He pointed to a young boy in the old photograph. "Myoujin Yahiko, my great-grandfather…adding three more greats to that. He was ten years old when this was taken."

"So?" Saito scowled irritably. "I don't have time to take a stroll down memory lane with you." Despite his harsh words he looked down at the image being pointed out to him.  He ignored the jolt of impossible recognition he felt when he looked at the boy in the photo.  He could detect no immediate resemblance to the boy's descendent he'd taken as his client.

Kenshin moved his hand, revealing a pretty young girl in a slightly rumpled kimono. "This is Kamiya Kaoru…" Saito grabbed the framed picture and stared at the smiling girl in shock. He _knew_ her…it wasn't possible, but Saito knew her.  How many times had he seen her in his dreams?  Dreams filled with incredible sorrow that somehow left him waking with a feeling of unfinished business.  He shook the odd feelings away with great difficulty.  He dealt with the tangible proof that could be collected with painstaking mental processes and a healthy dose of grueling labor, not with half remembered dreams that made no sense in the glaring light of day. But even more shocking than the recognition he felt from those same strangely recurring dreams was the uncanny resemblance she had to the recent murder victims.

His eyes moved to a tall man dressed in white and felt a shiver race up his spine as his hair tried to stand on end. He pointed. "Who's this?" Something within the recesses of his mind whispered _'ahou'_. He shook his head, not understanding what the word meant, but recognizing it as something his grandfather had said frequently.  This was another face he recognized from having inhabited his dreams.  He was beginning to wonder if it were just some freak coincidence or if perhaps there was more to this than first met the eye.  He was almost afraid to find out.

"Sagara Sanosuke."

He started visible.  "Sagara?"  He repeated slowly, mind racing.  He wondered if it could be possible that the man he knew as Bob Sagara was somehow related to the young man he was currently staring at.  Slowly, his eyes moved to the final figure in the 123 year old photograph. He stared at the smiling young man in disbelief. Except for the crossed scars on his left cheek, longer hair and Japanese attire, he could've sworn he was looking at Kenshin Myoujin. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak. "And who is this?" Somehow, deep down, he knew the answer already as that same voice whispered in his mind _'Battousai'_.

"Himura Kenshin…the man you called Hitokiri Battousai, Mr. Saito."

"Battousai…" Saito repeated numbly. Despite the cheerful smile on the young man's face, Saito saw clearly a deep sadness and weariness in his expression. He swallowed and looked away from the disturbing photograph. He studied his companion for a moment, and then held the framed picture up, eyes moving from the man identified as Hitokiri Battousai to Kenshin Myoujin and back again. "You…um…you kinda look like him, you know."

"Do I?" Kenshin shrugged and turned to the bed. "Pass me the photo's of the murdered women." Saito did so automatically. It was a striking resemblance that Kenshin Myoujin bore to Himura Kenshin. He wondered if he'd been named for the man in the picture. He stared at the photograph, his pulse thudding almost painfully when he noticed the katana at his side. Could it be possible that this was the same weapon he'd seen earlier? "Uh…Saito…are you all right?"

"Never better." He answered dully, mind racing faster than he could possibly hope to keep up.  If he remembered correctly, Bob Sagara had a daughter.  He scowled and stared sightlessly at the photograph he still held.  He couldn't recall her name, but she must be close to twenty by now.  He vaguely remembered an annoying brat constantly hanging off of him whenever he'd stopped by their small apartment.  He wondered if Bob still lived there.  He suddenly felt the need to renew old ties that he'd all but forgotten about over the course of the intervening years.  He closed his eyes briefly as he tried to recall what the kid had looked like.  If he remembered correctly, she'd had dark hair and…his eyes snapped open.  She'd had blue eyes.  Eyes like the young woman in the photograph he still held.  He resisted the urge to swear violently.

"Maybe you should sit down…you look a little pale." Dimly Saito was aware of the younger man producing a chair and slowly he sat, never once taking his eyes from the photograph.  He'd have to look Bob Sagara up in the morning.  He couldn't afford to make a mistake.  If the killer were targeting women who resembled this Kamiya Kaoru, then Bob's daughter may be in danger.  That was, of course, if she were still in the area and if she did indeed follow the pattern of resemblance.  "Saito…do you need some orange juice or something?"

He blinked and looked up at his client. "No, why?"

"You looked about ready to pass out. Are you diabetic?"

Saito scowled. "No, I'm not diabetic." He stood and dropped the photograph onto the bed. He shook off his odd feeling of déjà vu and turned to face the smaller man, making a mental note to not forget to contact his old "friend", Bob Sagara, and learn the whereabouts of his daughter. "All right, the victims _might_ resemble that Kamiya girl." He paused and blinked in surprise. "Kamiya…as in Kamiya Kasshin?"

Kenshin nodded. "She was the last Kamiya to train an apprentice in her family's techniques. She died before she could pass it along to anyone else. The last apprentice was Myoujin Yahiko."

Saito turned back to the bed and stared at the girl in the picture. "No children?"  He asked it though he already felt he knew the answer.

"Never married. She died three years after this photograph was taken."

Saito grabbed the picture again and stared hard at it.  From the recesses of his memory one of the earlier nightmares returned to him.  He closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to remember.  He had a vague image of a young woman in a yellow dress…or was it a kimono?…laying in a pool of blood, her clothes torn and bloody. "Tell me, Myoujin, how did she die?"  He was rather pleased that his voice emerged sounding almost normal.

"She was murdered, Mr. Saito. I don't know the details. They were never documented."

Saito stared at Himura Kenshin in silence for a moment before tapping his finger on his image. "And him? What happened to Himura Kenshin?"

"He died a few weeks after Miss Kamiya."

Saito looked up slowly and studied the smaller man intently. "How?"

There must have been something in his expression because Kenshin took a quick step back. "Um…h-he committed suicide, Mr. Saito."

Saito swore softly under his breath and set the picture down again. "Ever have a feeling that you knew something, but there was no way of knowing?"  He asked almost conversationally, eyes lingering on the young woman in the old photograph.  He was now determined more than ever to solve this case he was currently working on.  He had a feeling that, somehow against all odds, these recent murders were tied into the past and the young woman in the 123 year old photograph, Kamiya Kaoru, was the center of it.  How this could be, he didn't want to begin to hazard a guess at, he just knew that there was a connection and if he didn't find it soon and bring closure to whatever it was that was occurring, Kenshin Myoujin just might share the same fate as his namesake in the photograph.


End file.
